


Dirty Mind Dirty Mouth (Pretty Little Head).

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Series: Permets-Tu [17]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern, Clothing Control, Control, D/s, Domestic Control, Dominance, Dominant!Enjolras, Final Exams, Grantaire Rants, Kink, M/M, Mouthy Submissives, N Things, Submission, Submissive!Grantaire, Underwear Kink, Your Kinky Sex Orders Should You Choose To Accept Them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1517693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Don't look ahead in the calendar.</i> Or, ten orders Grantaire receives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Mind Dirty Mouth (Pretty Little Head).

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Pretty Little Head by Eliza Rickman. Thanks to Welcome To Night Vale for solving my title search problems!

1\. 

**9:00 AM: WAKE UP THE SUN IS SHINING IT'S A NEW DAY WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP.**

Grantaire groans and hits his phone hard. He doesn't remember setting an alarm. He's pretty sure he didn't set an alarm. He's not sure he remembers what his alarm even sounds like. And he would never set his alarm to be The Final Countdown. Stupid Enjolras and stupid playing with his phone, Grantaire is going to shout at him a lot--

Oh. It's not an alarm.

Grantaire squints at the calendar notification. He's pretty sure this wasn't there yesterday. His finger hovers over the day view, but then another notification pops up with more much-too-loud music.

**9:05 AM: DON'T LOOK AHEAD IN THE CALENDAR. BE A GOOD BOY AND AVOID SPOILERS.**

"Enjolras, you are in finals all day," Grantaire says to his phone. It doesn't respond. (He thinks he should be adding an ominous "yet" to that thought.)

"Also, it's way too early," Grantaire complains, and then texts the same thing to Enjolras. Enjolras, who has an eight a.m. final, Grantaire knows much too well, does not actually respond.

Grantaire peeks out the window. It's raining.

"Also, you're wrong about the sun," Grantaire informs his phone and then, grumbling, gets out of bed anyway.

 

2\. 

**9:20 AM: TAKE A SHOWER. GET YOURSELF OFF WITH ONLY YOUR LEFT HAND. TAKE AT LEAST TEN MINUTES.**

**9:21 AM: (REMEMBER NOT TO SHAVE!)**

"You and your beard-burn experiments," Grantaire sighs, but fondly. It's not like he doesn't appreciate it, too.

Then it hits him, slowly.

Enjolras telling him not to look ahead in the calendar.

Enjolras putting things on his calendar.

Enjolras putting things onto his calendar and not wanting him to look ahead to know what they are.

Enjolras wanting Grantaire to obey him as the orders come and not anticipate them.

Wait, holy fuck, Enjolras decided to stop studying long enough to plan out Grantaire's day for him, dump it into the orders calendar, and then didn't give Grantaire advance warning, just trusting him to obey.

...Yeah. Getting himself off won't be a problem. Making it last ten minutes _will be_.

 

3\. 

**9:45 AM: YOUR CLOTHES ARE IN YOUR SUITCASE. DON'T WEAR UNDERWEAR.**

Grantaire is rapidly revising just how long Enjolras was preparing this, if it meant that Enjolras actually packed an outfit for him and hid it the last time he was over. So, no, this wasn't some last minute thing Enjolras thought up last night while he was high on too much caffeine and too little sleep.

Grantaire's clothes for the day are his favorite jeans -- so that's where they've gone to, Grantaire's been looking for those -- and one of his millions of black t-shirts. Enjolras has nicely given him socks, and there's also Enjolras's favorite red jacket stuffed into the corner. Beneath it all is a handwritten note to wear whatever shoes he likes. Enjolras is so considerate and thoughtful.

Grantaire checks his watch and figures that Enjolras is probably out of his first final by now, so texts him: _you leaving me your coat: either we're stuck in a high school movie cliche, or you just want to mark me with your semen in public and know that would be frowned upon. If you don't pick one, I will._

Grantaire watches his phone for a few minutes, but Enjolras doesn't respond.

All right. He's going with the come-marking theory, then. If Enjolras wants to disprove that, well, he can do that later.

R: _most stylish come-marking ever!_

He encloses a photo of himself wearing the coat. Enjolras doesn't take the bait. Grantaire sighs theatrically and puts his phone back into his pocket. Now what is he supposed to do? Come on, Enjolras, get with the program.

Grantaire waits five minutes and then pulls the phone out again and checks the time. Still no more orders. Well, if he's not going to be allowed to look ahead, and he's not getting told what to do... Grantaire cracks his fingers and starts thinking of suitably filthy texts to send to his extremely frustrating and _not being thoughtful enough_ boyfriend.

 

4.

**10:00 AM: I'M SURE YOU HAVE SOME E-MAILS TO GO THROUGH. WHY DON'T YOU GO DO THAT?**

Hmm. Maybe he is getting through to Enjolras. Or maybe Enjolras is just that much of a mind reader. But Grantaire'll bet that this is something new on the calendar that wasn't there before, oh, fourteen minutes ago. Grantaire: 1, Enjolras: 0. 

Okay, Enjolras: like a million, because this is the best surprise ever, but let's not inflate Enjolras's ego too much. The day is still young.

R: _So what are your thoughts on come markings?_

But after the text sends, he goes to be a good boy and goes through his e-mails and then finally gets around to responding to one from his sister from yesterday, and then sees that Bahorel's online. Which doesn't count as e-mails, though, so he feels free to continue to pester Enjolras through text.

With love.

 

5\. 

**10:45 AM: CORINTHE - JOLY AND BOSSUET - BRUNCH**

By this point, Grantaire is just completely rolling with this. Take a shower? Okay! Wear certain clothes? Perfectly fine! Go out to brunch with his friends despite neither of them inviting him or mentioning they'll be there? Why not!

Grantaire makes it to the Corinthe a little early, because it's not like he has anything else to do, and he's really really curious at how Enjolras set this up. Joly and Bossuet wave him over from a table in the corner.

"We're just ordering," Joly says. "What do you want?" He sounds a little stuffed up, like he's coming down with a cold. Bossuet's probably going to come down with it, too. Those two share everything. And people think Grantaire and Enjolras are bad. 

"Uh," Grantaire says and surreptitiously checks his phone. There are no new alerts. Grantaire's fragile male ego cracks a bit. "Enjolras is disdaining me," he sighs.

Joly and Bossuet exchange a significant look. "You were a little early," Joly says. "Maybe we could wait five minutes."

"No, it's okay," Grantaire says. "Enjolras has managed to anticipate me every minute I've been awake today, which, admittedly, has not been a lot of them, so it's only fair that our fair leader shows some fine cracks in his marble facade and so his fate is to fail. It must occur to all of us in time, the death of our omnisciences. Myself, it happened in childhood, I can still recall my second birthday and--" his phone chimes at him. "And Enjolras wants me to get waffles. It's like he knows what I always get." Or that asshole actually did factor in that Grantaire's travel time to the Corinthe is highly variable depending on which route he decides to take, and so told Grantaire to get his usual, in case Grantaire got bored of waiting for an order and got his usual anyway. This way, no matter what, Grantaire is being a nice obedient boy.

That controlling, condescending, beautiful prick.

Grantaire also could hit himself in the forehead because he has his phone, for fuck's sake, and all of this is already in his calendar. Enjolras is currently sitting his second exam of the day, he's not adding new things right now. Grantaire could have looked ahead. It just hadn't even crossed his mind.

He is a good boy, dammit. He is a good boy. He deserves a gold star and a spanking. He texts Enjolras this, it's very important. He's sure Enjolras agrees with him.

"I seriously deserve that gold star," Grantaire says and puts his phone back. "So what did Enjolras say to get you guys to agree to this?"

"That you've been moping worse than Marius with a crush and need to be distracted," Bossuet says. Joly nods.

"My fragile ego is breaking even more," Grantaire tells them. "I am totally not that bad."

"Enjolras cares somewhat about not failing out of school, you don't," Joly says kindly. "Every relationship has its personality and priority clashes and--"

"Yeah, but I'm totally not worse than Marius," Grantaire says. "I know what he's like. Ecstasies in which they forget to kiss. Pure on earth, but joined in heaven. They are souls possessed of senses. They lie among the stars. _He doesn't know her name_."

"Such ephemeral details are not important in the mind of true love," Bossuet says with a straight face.

"And you kind of have been worse," Joly says apologetically. "Like two days ago at the Musain when you hit on that guy and spent the entire time telling him how awesome your boyfriend is, how hot he is--"

"And how much he's not sleeping with you," Bossuet finishes in unison with Joly.

Grantaire winces. "But that was one time!"

"Admit it, you're pathetic and moping and need brunch," Joly says. "Doctor's orders. Also Enjolras's orders. You're lucky we didn't go with the first plan, which was meeting at nine. So, basically, you're going to eat waffles and enjoy yourself. I'm sure it will be a terrible experience for you, but you will just have to suck it up and deal."

"You guys care about me, it's a terrible burden," Grantaire says. 

 

6\. 

**1:00 PM: ONE LEFT! BY ALL MEANS, TAKE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO KEEP COMPLAINING ABOUT ME.**

Grantaire snorts, then raises his orange juice in a toast. "To absent friends, who are more studious than we are." 

They all drink, and then Grantaire begins:

"Come now, are there going to be more exams? This poverty of ideas on the part of academia astounds me. They spin their wheels every moment but never progress. There is a course and its work. Quick, an exam! The good professors have their hands perpetually black with printer ink. If I were in their place, I'd be perfectly simple about, I would not wind up my students every minute with tests, I'd lead the human race in a straightforward way, I'd weave topics mesh by mesh without breaking the thread, I would have no trick questions, I would have no uncomfortable assumptions. What the rest of you call passing advances by means of two motors, tests and those who grade them. But, sad to say, from time to time, the exceptional becomes necessary. The ordinary coursework suffices neither for understanding nor learning: among men, geniuses are required to derive any long-term benefit from this we call academic endeavor. We require revolution, nay, they will say, we require an exam! Academic success is a fluke; the order of things has nothing to do with it. Judging from the apparition of comets, one would be tempted to think that Heaven itself finds the joke in it, too. You can spit into the wind and the comet doesn't care, the same for all your index cards! At the moment when one expects it the least, God placards a meteor on the wall of the firmament. And so you fail your exam. Your teacher deals you the blow with an essay question you cannot bullshit your way through, and God strikes you down with a comet. Behold the aurora borealis, behold your report card, behold the revolution! Behold your final exam: 93 in big letters. And this you call success with the same taste as failure.

"Ah, what a beautiful theater is a graduation ceremony. Boom, boom, extraordinary show! Raise your eyes, everything is in disorder, the star as well as the drama. Good God, it is too much and not enough. These students, from least to most exceptional, seem magnificence and poverty both at once. A magnificent achievement, to pass exams! And such poverty of ideas, that your grade indicates your genius, that your GPA proves you worthy of your bread. Ah, but you strive in academia, but it is mere luck and trickery. What does an exam prove? That your teacher is in a quandary. They cannot fail you all; some at least must pass. They effect the curve; the two ends of the class may not meet. Some will pass and some will fail. In fact, this confirms me in my conjectures as to my academic fate, and when I see so much distress in the campus and in the street, I suspect that God is not a natural test-taker. For the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, not the A+ to the wise, for time and chance happen to all; even God must have his bad days, wake up late, hungover, and so therefore bomb the test. Oh, the appearance of omniscience exists, it is true, but I feel that even he is hard-pressed to remember if he created the world in six days or five, perhaps it was seven, I was never good at numbers. Gentlemen, my father always detested me because I could not understand mathematics. I understand only love and liberty. And how like God am I! God's creations reflect God, as man's creations reflect man. Therefore, as I fail, so does God. However, I may not understand pi, but I am a lover of people! But that is not enough. I cannot pass my exams, there is no revolution for me. 

"University must not be judged from appearances. Beneath the gilding of their facades, I perceive a poverty-stricken universe. Academia is bankrupt. That is why I am discontented. Ever since I began here, I have been waiting for a teacher to rise up and proclaim, death to the exams! We must have true understanding and learning, not rote regurgitation of facts and figures and the height of Napoleon! I have been waiting for daylight to come; it has not come, and I bet that it won't come. This is the existence of the dreamer. The course is badly arranged, nothing fits anything else, my course of study rockets back and forth from Marlowe to Mallory to a Mallard Duck, and what do I recall after the semester? Enjolras smiled at me! Gentleman, I am a failure at academics, but so are you. This is not a life of learning, this is a life of exams. Quick, we must study for tests, will this material be on the test, will it be open-book? My students, your life is open-book, you must learn how to learn, but no one says this to me. This old world is all warped, I take my stand on the opposition, everything goes awry; the university is a tease. Total: I am vexed.

"However, the university is what it is. I speak here without evil intent and to ease my conscience. In truth, I did not study. The earth is a great piece of stupidity. And they all go to their exams, all those imbeciles, and to break each other's pencils in a fight over GPA and to massacre their mental health to the altar of academia. Hail academia, when they might as well go off with their boyfriend to breathe in the spring in the meadows. Really, people do commit altogether too many follies. It is time to enlighten the human race, and here we return to the university, the worst possible system, excepting all the others. In that, it comes out ahead. Come, I do not hate our fair university, in some years, I may even join the alumni society, if they see fit to graduate me. They probably will not. That's what comes of swallowing an exam the wrong way, it comes out as an F. I am growing melancholy once more. Oh, frightful old world. Students study, destroy themselves in the pursuit of academic perfection, and then forget all of it. Get used to it!"

And, after this fit of eloquence, Grantaire goes into a well-earned coughing fit. Joly refills his drink. Bossuet gives a round of applause.

"Bravo, maestro," Joly says. "I'm nearly moved to boycotting my finals. But I won't. Confusion to our enemies!"

 

7.

**4:45 PM: DON'T FORGET THINGS ON YOUR ACTUAL CALENDAR FOR TODAY.**

The Corinthe eventually kicked them out, so they've wandered over the Musain, where Enjolras is sitting at a table, his sleeves rolled up, being all effortlessly charming and charismatic at a group of rapt punks. Grantaire is always just falling more and more in love with him, it's not fair. But Enjolras is holding court and being himself at people, so Grantaire gets a drink and settles in at a table with a good view. He's definitely feeling the lack of underwear.

But that might just be his phone buzzing.

Enjolras: _Stop drooling._

Grantaire looks up. Enjolras isn't touching his phone, it's like magic. But he is smirking at Grantaire. Then he makes a little shooing motion and Grantaire looks over his shoulder where the rest of the amis are pushing tables together. Grantaire sighs at the injustice, then goes to help them set up.

Enjolras wasn't the only one with a full set of finals scheduled for today, so Grantaire has to buy drinks for the people who made it through the ordeal alive and mostly unharmed. Courfeyrac slings his arm around Grantaire's shoulders and calls him terrible names for encouraging Enjolras -- Enjolras had apparently spent the entire five minutes he and Courfeyrac had for lunch scrolling through the estimated three trillion texts Grantaire's sent this morning. Grantaire's not sorry.

"You should see what he has planned for you tonight," Courfeyrac says ominously and then kisses Grantaire's cheek. "Mwah. I hope you receive tenfold all the pain I got, except you'll like it, you kinky bastard."

"That's part of the plan," Enjolras says dryly from behind them, apparently having finished telling his groupies how to start fucking shit up. "Grantaire, hello. You look very nice. How was your day?"

"You know how today was," Grantaire grumbles. Enjolras suddenly grins so wide, it's gotta hurt his cheeks. 

Enjolras wraps his fingers around Grantaire's wrist. "Did you like it?" 

"I can't believe you made me take ten whole minutes to jerk off," Grantaire says. "I don't have that kind of stamina when you surprise me with sex stuff, you should know that. Other than that, no complaints." Courfeyrac chokes. Grantaire pats him on the back. "See? Courfeyrac agrees with me. You're a terrible tease, Enjolras."

"I said no such thing," says Courfeyrac. "I don't take sides. Although if I _did_ \--"

"See, Courfeyrac agrees," Grantaire interrupts. But Enjolras is just looking at his watch, a sly expression on his face. Grantaire feels very doomed. He's reaching for his phone when it starts singing sweet, inappropriate songs at him.

"Courfeyrac," Enjolras suggests, "you may want to--"

"Yes, totally, I hear Combeferre calling," Courfeyrac says and then goes to go talk to Feuilly, because Combeferre's not actually here yet, but Grantaire doesn't actually care because he's staring at his orders, while Enjolras slips something into his pocket.

"By the way," Enjolras says. "I like the jacket. And, no, _that_ wasn't meant to be semen marking. Where do you even come up with these things?"

Grantaire could ask Enjolras the same thing, but instead just says, "you know you love my filthy mind."

"Mmhmm," Enjolras pats Grantaire's ass. "Don't take too much time, I don't want anyone to notice you're missing. We wouldn't want awkward public questions, would we?"

Grantaire swallows hard. "No, sir, not at all." And he's really going to have to learn to hold his tongue, or, maybe, just his texts, because, oh dear god, he checks the orders again:

**5:30 PM: YOUR TEXTS WERE VERY PROVOCATIVE AND INSPIRING IN EXACTLY THE WAYS YOU MEANT THEM TO BE.**

**5:30 PM: GO TO THE BATHROOM, PUT THESE ON.**

**5:30 PM: YOU'RE THE ONE WHO WANTED SEMEN MARKING, BOY. NEVER SAY I CAN'T TAKE A HINT.**

**5:30 PM: ENJOY.**

"Consider it me seeing what you're capable of," says Enjolras, whose underwear is in Grantaire's back pocket, and then he pushes Grantaire insistently towards the bathroom. Grantaire goes.

 

8.

**7:45 PM: STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING AND COME FIND ME.**

Grantaire laughs. He's all of, what, three yards from Enjolras? So not so much trying to find him as trying to distract him and get his attention. But Enjolras is deep in conversation, so Grantaire just texts him: _tag, you're it._

Enjolras didn't say what to do after he comes find him, so Grantaire goes back to nursing his drink. He'd switched to water after his second one, because Enjolras has opinions about mixing alcohol and sex that Grantaire can't convince him out of. Grantaire's even offered to take a breathalyzer, but Enjolras was not amused. Apparently they need to have some pretense at having a healthy relationship with boundaries and all that shit, so Enjolras won't control how much Grantaire drinks. Except Enjolras won't fuck him after more than two drinks. So he actually is, and just won't admit it. Behold the enigma of Enjolras. Grantaire toasts him.

Eventually, Enjolras looks over his shoulder and raises his eyebrow at him. Grantaire gets up and walks over. It's not like he's been doing much anyway tonight besides watching Enjolras. Watching Enjolras, waiting impatiently for more orders, and also trying not to think too hard about his underwear and that Enjolras isn't wearing any. Trying, and completely failing.

"You said come find me, not come over," Grantaire points out.

"Rules-lawyering is not going to get you what you want," Enjolras says. "Really not. Sit."

Grantaire sits.

"You can look ahead now, if you want," Enjolras says. "We're leaving soon anyway. I'm tired, it's been a long day."

"Uh-huh," Grantaire says, and thinks about it. Does he really want to know what's going to happen next? Would the surprise be better? Would anything, in fact, stop Enjolras from changing the orders later anyway? Is there a Schroedinger's Cat thing happening here? Does he even have future orders if he doesn't look to see if he does? 

His head hurts.

"Oh, fine," Enjolras says, and then takes Grantaire's phone away from him. When he hands it back, there's a brand-new order.

**STOP OVERTHINKING THINGS. YOU'RE NOT GETTING FUCKED ANYWAY.**

Grantaire snorts. "Rude," he complains. 

"Tired," Enjolras corrects.

 

9.

**8:30 PM: RUB MY BACK.**

"I have had a very long day," Enjolras says, totally innocently, and Grantaire didn't end up looking ahead, but he's been watching Enjolras and he knows Enjolras in need of a pampering when he sees it.

But, just to make sure... "Do we need to re-litigate the difference between not minding that something hurts and _liking_ that it does?"

Enjolras looks very disappointed in Grantaire. "I'm not going to make you fuck me." There's a very loud unspoken _right now_ in there, and Grantaire despairs. He really does. But, hey, on the bright side, he's not going to be fucking Enjolras tonight. (How is that a good thing, how is this his life?) 

Grantaire rubs his hands together. "Backrub, got it," Grantaire says. He waggles his eyebrows. "And then, I think, a footrub and if I'm a good boy, I get to suck you off?"

"It's like you've read your orders," Enjolras says dryly. Then he smiles self-deprecatingly. "I did have something in there about fingering me while you were doing it, but Courfeyrac made me take it out."

"Courfeyrac is my hero," Grantaire says. "Weren't you going to beat me, though?" He was promised a beating. Well, Courfeyrac promised him a beating. Grantaire begins to suspect Courfeyrac may have been lying to him. Or, at least, artificially inflating his hopes.

"Courfeyrac had sadly out-dated information," Enjolras says.

"You totally straight-up lied to him, didn't you?" Grantaire asks. "Wow. I didn't know you had it in you."

Enjolras shakes his head. "It was the plan. Then you decided you really needed to spend a few hours wearing my dirty underwear and there's no point in adding a beating on top of that." There's not? Grantaire will never understand the way Enjolras thinks. That's probably a good thing. It keeps things all exciting and unpredictable and is probably an important part of a well-balanced breakfast.

"Are you sure?" Grantaire asks. "Because I'm willing to beg."

"You're always willing to beg," Enjolras points out. "And, yes, I'm sure. You wanted a reminder of who's in charge. You got one. Don't be greedy."

Grantaire says, "Enjolras, all of today has been a reminder of who's in charge," and then Enjolras kisses him.

"Oh, good, you got the memo," Enjolras says. "Now go get the massage oil, I want you to rub my back."

And so Grantaire obediently goes to get the massage oil.

 

10.

**11:00: COME TO BED AND GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP.**

Enjolras opens his eyes enough to glare at Grantaire, who shrugs. "You're the one who put it in," he says. He's a total innocent in all of this.

Enjolras grumbles more and throws his arm back around Grantaire's shoulder. "Turn that fucking thing off," he orders. Grantaire obeys happily.


End file.
